Harry Potter and The War of Blood
by Daniel Entwistle
Summary: Twenty years after The Deathly Hallows, Harry Potter is living a life less than ordinary by wizarding standards . A steady job at the the new and improved Ministry of Magic and a loving family. Then, a face from the past changes everything.
1. The Unwilling Sacrifice of Mr Malfoy

**CHAPTER ONE**

_The Unwilling Sacrifice of Mr. Malfoy_

David Shelby was late, very late in fact, for one of the most important meetings of his life. As he ran down the fluorescent lit corridor towards the conference room, slips of paper slid from the leather bound binder he was carrying and spread across the floor. "Damn..." he whispered out loud, as he turned briefly to check if they were important or not to be picked back up. On his way, David passed several people huddled in spattered groups talking in hushed voices, occasionally hearing words like 'Muggle' and 'wand core'. To any normal person, such words would sound strange and confusing, but his business _was _strange and confusing, and he batted not one eyelid to them. His watch told him that he was over ten minutes late – his associates did not regard tardiness as a commendable asset to the job. To be honest, he told himself, he wasn't the most important person here, and it would probably make little difference if he got there on time or not at all.

He had finally arrived at the conference room, with a very dull grey door which read just that. He laid the folders to one side and brushed himself down with the palms of his hand. Breathing deeply and slowly, David pushed the door open with surprising ease, only to be greeted on the other side by a man of such imposing height; it blocked the dim lights from the room casting an intimidating shadow across his face. David stood, frozen to the spot, unable to speak. The silhouetted man raised his hand as David spluttered out a few, nonsensical words. "You're late, Shelby," he uttered calmly, as if he were a Doctor telling a patient bad news "you know we do not tolerate lateness. We begin to doubt our security; we begin to fear for the safety of our people." His words echoed down the long corridor, and unbeknownst to David, the people littering it shifted uncomfortably before going on their way. "I... I'm sorry!" David finally managed to muster "The traffic... getting here... it isn't easy!" The tall man's facial features shifted into what could have been a smile. "Do not worry yourself with trivial matters." He said. "I'm just glad you're here, I could use your... _input_."

David followed the tall man into the room, keeping his head low and searched the oblong table for his seat. As he sat, the slender looking woman cast him a look from the corner of her eye. There weren't many people around the table, David counted four. The room was so dimly lit it was difficult to tell what – or if – there was anything on the walls. What he could tell, however, was that the room descended into darkness, and at the apex of the meeting of light and dark, the tall man stood. He did not need to hush the small gathering, as their attention was already so rapt. The scene was prepared, the tall man thought, prepared for his address which would – he guaranteed himself – not be interrupted. "Twenty years ago, Britain faced a troubling time. Had certain... people not acted, the society we all know today would not exist." The others looked apprehensive. They knew what he was talking about, but were unsure as to where it was leading. "I am, of course, talking about the Battle of Hogwarts, where Voldemort, a wizard so powerful and deadly, launched his final attack to take over his world. And ours."

"Our government knew of these events. They trusted _our _survival to these people. They folded." The woman to the right of David tilted her head. "I know what you will say, Rebecca, as you always do. The good guys won." The sound of disdain was clear. "You know that we are not alone. We a part of large network of people, of... humans, who do not wish to live in the shadow of wizardry and the dangers it presents. Our Prime Minister has been assured that the worst has passed assured that no more ordinary, decent individuals will be harmed by their magic. Unfortunately they were wrong." His face leant towards the light, and his rough features were finally shown – a large and once painful scar crossed his face from above his eyebrow to below his lips. "Shelby." David jumped slightly at the sudden mention of his name. "Shelby, give me Case Report four-six." The file wasn't particularly difficult to find, but David fretted for a moment worried that it was one of the files he deemed unimportant enough not to be picked up. The tall man held the file open in his left hand, scanning it with his eyes. "Last month, a witch by the name of Pansy Parkinson used, _ahem_, 'Dark Magic' to execute a 'Muggle' family in Norfolk. Sadly, our agents were too late to begin any form of resuscitation, but managed to apprehend the criminal." A dark look was clearly visible in the face of the man, even in the near darkness of the room. "She is being held at Site C and questioned on the whereabouts of other potentially dangerous individuals." "What have we discovered?" Asked an elderly man to David's left. The tall man looked surprised to be having been asked a question, but answered in his cold style "Under the right conditions, Marcus, she was able to give us the location of non other than Hogwarts." "_The school?" _asked Marcus, shifting forward in his seat. "Yes, the school. She was unable to give us any details about its layout inside – naturally a building so enveloped by magic would be almost unplottable by normal standards. However, she did give us a tantalising detail, something that will almost certainly guarantee us the impetus for putting our plan in motion."

The tall man held up a small piece of paper, on which was spatters of blood. However, it was the crude, childlike drawing that caught the attendees' attention. It was an insignia, a silver snake on a green background with indiscernible writing underneath. "What does that say, underneath?" asked Rebecca. "It says 'Slytherin', one of the houses of Hogwarts, and it is here that gives us our impetus." The people in the room looked to each other, deep in thought, though none the wiser as to what he meant. "We have long prepared for the day where we would get the right reasons for enacting Clause Six. _'Genuine oversight by the wizarding community to contain its dangers, be it man, ethereal or creature.'_" He recited. "Slytherin is a breeding ground for evil. Parkinson told us this much before she... succumbed. If the very place where obedience and control is taught it also home to the teachings of crime, then there should be no doubt in our mind." Next to Rebecca was a skinny man who had so far said nothing, nor made any distinguishing motions, after sitting in silence, clearly thinking deeply, he said "Head Office have looked at your findings. My presence here should be... a positive sign." Smiling, almost too easily he continued "By a unanimous vote, Clause Six has been enacted. We have begun preparations to announce our existence to the wizarding community. Of course, we will always need a back-up plan, in case they should resist our... suggestions."

The tall man returned the smile. "Jason, I'm glad you brought it up. I have something I want to show you all." He walked towards the far wall and disappeared into the darkness. Seconds later the mechanical sound of a lever being pulled flashed strong lights on, blinding all momentarily. David rubbed his eyes and strained to see what had been revealed. In the centre of the room, unknown to all who had sat there, was a small chamber slightly taller than a man. In fact, _there _was a man inside. His features were easily distinguishable, pointed as they were. His clothes were tattered, a cloak of deep emerald green. His hair, though thinning still contained its natural, golden white sheen. His eyes were wide with fear because, for the first time in his life, he was scared of Muggles. "This," the tall man announced "is Draco Malfoy."

"Where am I?" Draco mildly asked "I want to see my family!" The tall man had seemed to not to notice these pleading calls, as he went on "Draco Malfoy is a wizard, and this" he picked out a small piece of wood from his pocked "is his _wand_." He turned to Draco and unopened the chamber holding him. Draco, looking pale and weak, stepped out nervously. "Here, Draco," said the tall man, "take your wand and... do what you must do." Draco snatched the wand and pointed it immediately at the tall man. "_Avada Kadavra!"_ He yelled, with venom in his voice and flashing eyes. The room gasped, and the man with the wand dropped to his knees with a strained look on his face. "Did you feel it Draco?" The tall man said slowly. "Did you feel the pain?" David, stunned, shouted unintentionally, "What happened? Why didn't it work?" The tall man smiled and bent down to pick up the now discarded wand. "Why have I forced you to be patient for all of these years? It's simple. For all the good our technology and weapons would have accomplished, it would have all been undone by _this_." He held up the wand, half admiring it. "We have developed a biological serum that blocks the magical receptors in the brain, forcing the wizard's body to become... human. As far as Draco here is concerned, he is no more a wizard than I am."

"I am... no _Muggle..._" Draco said weakly. "I am a wizard, and my people will not stand by and take this." The tall man smiled, and kneeled down to talk to Draco face to face. "Do you remember Pansy Parkinson? A woman so Hell bent on hating _my people _that she would so confident to break her cover just to kill an innocent family? You cannot control yourselves. No matter how many of you consider yourselves to be good; no matter what people you put in power, you cannot control it. You have this false sense of superiority, which you have believed for too long." The four people around the table looked grave. They knew it was near. David looked away, wishing he could get away with covering his ears. He did his best to clear his mind from his surroundings. The tall man reached into the insides of his jacket, and – in an almost whisper – said "Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy." A gunshot rang out, a not uncommon thing, and Draco Malfoy thought no more.

"Slytherin." The tall man whispered. The short silence that was followed was punctured by a loud knock at the door. "Enter" he beckoned, and through burst a rather flustered orderly, his face half contorted somewhere between surprise and glee. "_We've found him_, we've found Potter." The tall man smiled, but a different smile, a warm smile. "You've found Harry? Well, that makes the whole thing that much easier." The tall man turned to his colleagues in the room. "It is time I told you a secret I have been withholding throughout this entire business." The people in the room dared not to gaze away for even a second. "You may have been aware that I have been... reluctant to reveal my name. It is not because I am ashamed of it. It is because your trust in me would certainly have wavered if I had told you any earlier."

"My name is Dudley Dursley. I am cousin to Harry Potter."


	2. The Man Who Lived

**CHAPTER TWO**

_The Man Who Lived_

Harry Potter awoke with a start. For the first time in almost twenty years, a nightmare had jolted him from his sleep, leaving him sat upright drenched in cold sweat. It had been a strange dream. He was eating lunch with his Uncle Vernon, who looked much older, and discussing the weather. As they began to talk about the rain in Manchester, Uncle Vernon started to wither and decay and a man with a scar down his face opened a door that wasn't there. It was at this point in his dream that he woke. Beside him, Harry's wife, Ginny, stirred. He wasn't sure whether to wake her, troubling her with his dreams seemed childish, but he couldn't shake the fact that this was the first dream so real since his encounters with Voldemort; a Dark Wizard Harry had aided to destroy. "What's up?" asked a small, tired voice. "Sorry, Ginny" began Harry "I... had a dream. A dream about my Uncle." She sat up suddenly, eyes fully awake with interest and compassion. "Your Uncle?" she repeated. "Yes." Harry closed his eyes "I still remember his funeral. I still remember how I felt, how I thought it was my fault, _knew _it was my fault." Ginny looked apprehensive. "It wasn't your fault. He died because of... them, the Death Eaters." Harry, still with his eyes closed "But it wasn't that which worried me. Dudley was missing. He didn't come." Ginny looked unable to say anything, but the fact that she was there was comfort enough to Harry. Sensing he had change the tone of the conversation, he turned to her and asked "Are we still going to Ron and Hermione's this weekend? Only I have a lot of work to do for the Ministry and..." "Harry Potter! It is my brothers, _your brother-in-law's _birthday! No amount of Ministry work is going to stop you from celebrating that!" Harry briefly admired how beautiful his wife looked when feigning anger and smiled. "Of course, you know this means I won't get paid overtime..." "We'll manage." She replied, and leaned in for a kiss.

Later that morning, however, the thought of his dream still haunted Harry. Why had the dream felt so real? His scar didn't hurt, though it would be ridiculous to think it was Voldemort again, so what was it? Harry had always felt that he was gifted in the art of premonition, even if it had got him – and others – into more trouble than it was worth. After quickly cleaning himself and getting dressed, Harry heard the pattering of small feet running towards his and Ginny's bedroom. The door swung open with surprising force, and it its frame stood a young girl with flaming red hair reminiscent of her mother, looking slightly too short for someone her age. Her usual charming grin-filled face was, however, sunken into grimace with stifled tears dripping down her cheeks. "What's up Lily? What's up sweetheart?" Harry asked, pushing the thoughts of the dream easily aside. "I-it's... _Fluffy!_" Lily yelled through the sobs. She brought her hands from behind her back to reveal what looked like a particularly ugly rat. "H-he t-turned my Fluffy into a... into a rat!" Lily's head titled downwards, which was lucky for Harry as he was trying hard to suppress a smile. "Let me guess... James did this?" Lily nodded her head slowly and held out the now pulsating rat to her father. With a soft sigh Harry pulled out his wand and whispered "_Finite Incantatem._" Within seconds, what once sat a disfigured rat was a rather small, snowy-white rabbit. It looked up at Harry and seemed to give him an approving twitch of the nose. "OK, now. She's all better, look." Upon seeing her precious pet restored, the tears disappeared and Lily – now with the usual grin on her face – enveloped Harry in a hug.

Morning routine in the Potter household would have been peculiar to any Muggle even if it hadn't been such a particularly important morning. Lily was beginning her education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the foremost teaching institution of magic in the world. Not only that, but Albus and James, Harry's other two children, where getting ready to start their third and fourth years respectively. James, while the eldest, was also the most likely to get into trouble. His antics at Hogwarts over the years and been responded with Howlers (letters that literally yell their contents), rather unjustly Harry thought, given his penchant for ignoring school rules. Albus (or Al, as he preferred to be called) was the exact opposite. Quiet, but gifted, was Professor Longbottom's assertion when he last met Harry and Ginny. Over the loud noise of Ginny giving James a stern telling off (something that she inherited from her mother), Harry was helping Lily pack the last of school things.

"Will I need a spell to keep the Sorting Hat from putting me in Slytherin?" she asked eyes wide half with wonder, half with fear. Harry chuckled lightly, and said "No. All you need to do is _tell _it where you want to go. That's all" Harry added when he saw the uncertain beginnings of a retort. Harry wondered to himself which of the four houses she would be placed in. James was a Gryffindor, whilst Al was in Ravenclaw. Truthfully, he told himself, if wouldn't matter where she was going to end up, she was a special one.

Eventually (after much disorganised to-ing and fro-ing), the Potter family prepared to leave for Kings Cross, the train station in London by which was the only means of getting the magically-hidden Hogwarts. As they climbed into their car, a Ford Anglia given to them as a wedding present by Arthur Weasley, Ginny's father, Harry was careful to check that they had everything. "Yeah, dad I've got my bloody wand!" yelled James arrogantly, but before Harry could say anything, Ginny – with her face filling with blood – gave James a look that sent him into a wave of thousand apologies. "Right then," Harry said pointedly "now we have that sorted, let's get out of here." The car sprang to life as Harry turned the key. He fondly remembered one of his previous experiences with a Ford Anglia. It was a long time ago, in his second year to be exact, and it involved a giant spider named Aragog, a very violent tree and he and Ron's almost expulsion from Hogwarts. Harry laughed inwardly, and concentrated on driving.

The Potter's lived in Godric's Hollow, the place where so much of his life had been predetermined for him. It was there that his parents lived, before being killed by the Dark Lord Voldemort. It was where his Head Teacher, Albus Dumbledore lived with a somehow more depressing and eventful life. Harry and Ginny had decided to live there in a lasting tribute to them. Various witches and wizards from all around the country would often visit Godric's Hollow just to see him, though it had petered away as the time moved on from his victory over Voldemort in The Battle of Hogwarts. Harry never got used to the idea of being famous, ever since his friend Hagrid introduced him to the world of wizards when he was eleven. Now, Harry was old enough not to be perturbed by the fame, and others respected that. Most of the fanfare came in a letter, asking only to be read.

After a rather long drive (the motorway was held up by an accident), the Potter family reached Kings Cross. As usual, there were many families busying around trying to organise themselves, to the delight of Ginny who enjoyed watching her well thought out preparation go on display. They had planned to meet with Ron and Hermione before they sent their children on the train, and – as he thought it – they appeared amidst the crowds gathered. As they got nearer, both sets of parents began to smile and when they were close enough, Hermione and Ginny grabbed each other in a hug. "How are you?" Ginny asked. "Fine," Hermione answered "but _someone _forgot to pack the kids' lunches." Ron looked abashed, and then quickly set his sights on a laughing Harry. "Don't know what you're laughing at, mate," he said with a slight smile "remember last year? The cloak fiasco?" They all began to laugh – much to the embarrassment of the children present. "How's George?" Ginny asked with a slight nervousness to her voice. "He's fine, the shop's doing OK – I often go back to help because, well, I think he needs someone there sometimes." Ron replied.

Harry and Ron turned to look at their children. Lily was busy chatting away animatedly to a very scared-looking ginger haired boy, whose name was Hugo – son to Ron. "Can you believe we're doing this all over again?" Ron said. "First years? It only feels like yesterday that we sent the last lot!" Harry warmly smiled and said "I remember our first meeting. Right there over there." Harry pointed to a large column in the middle of the platform. Can you believe that was nearly thirty years ago?" "Hold on mate, don't say that too loud. I don't want people thinking I'm old!" Ron said. Then his face turned serious, which Harry noticed: "What is it?" "Well, I didn't know if I should've told you last week after the Auror meeting, but..." All of a sudden, they were called over by Ginny and Hermione "Listen, I'll tell you later," Harry didn't look convinced "it's nothing serious! Trust me!" Harry, Ron and the children ran over to the train. Rose, Ron and Hermione's eldest child, dragged Al into the train talking excitedly about the on-going Quidditch World Cup Final, which had lasted – so far – five weeks. As the children gathered on the train, Harry noticed something very peculiar. It was Draco Malfoy's wife – Astoria – _without _Draco.

Harry and Draco had a disagreeable time in Hogwarts – culminating in Harry saving his life during The Battle of Hogwarts. This, he believed, was the reason why Draco was reasonable at the Ministry in his position as assistant to the Minister of Magic. Indeed, Harry had to admire Draco's successful attempt to make himself a better person. Harry turned to Ginny and said "I'll be one moment, meet me at the car. Don't worry, I'll be quick." As he got closer, Astoria looked paler that she usually did. Her beautiful face was distorted with lines which, Harry thought, of worry. Instead of her usual elegant dress she wore for seeing her son, Scorpius, off with it seemed that she had dressed in a hurry. "Astoria?" Harry said. It seemed to take a minute for her to realise he was there. "Oh. Harry." She said, nonchalantly. "Where's Draco?" Harry asked. "He's... away – for the Ministry," and before he could retort, added "look, I've got to go" and she hurried away in the opposite direction. Harry, for a second, thought he could hear sobbing.

When he returned to the car to a disgruntled Ginny, he didn't mention his brief talk with Astoria, instead making up a story about talking to a fellow Auror. "Sometimes," she began, "I worry about you." Harry smiled and said "You don't have to." Ginny relented, "OK, we've got to get back quickly. I've just heard that Italy have gone ahead in the World Cup Final, and I need to return to writing the match report. It's been going on for so long that the Prophet has decided to condense the sports page into a column – no-one is interested! Not interested? This is the best final in years! It's only because England were trounced by Scotland in the first round..."


	3. The Letter From NoOne

**CHAPTER THREE**

_The Letter from No-One_

There was a face in the darkness. Its face-length scar burned a painful, hot white. The face spoke, an unrecognisable voice echoed in his mind, words that made no sense. A strong hand appeared – held out in a friendly gesture. Harry was going to meet the hand, but recoiled at the sound of a gun being loaded. The scarred-man smiled, and the burning light morphed into an explosion, the sound of a gunshot. Screaming... screaming... Sweating, Harry quickly jumped from his bed and ran – softly – to the bathroom. After dousing himself with cold water, he reflected on his nightmare. Just who was this scarred man? Was it a version of him, lodged away in his sub-conscious? Or someone else, someone like Voldemort – able to infect his mind? He wanted to wake Ginny, he knew she would understand. However, she was late in coming to bed, the article took longer than she expected (the Quidditch game was finally won), and she needed her sleep. For the first time since he left school he wished he had someone... wiser, more intelligent. He wished he had Sirius.

Harry decided to go to work early that morning. He was an Auror for the Ministry of Magic, working under the tutelage of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Kingsley had always said that Harry was one of the finest Aurors that had ever worked at the Ministry, though Harry attributed this compliment to his failure to capture Pansy Parkinson, and he expected that the other Aurors – including Ron – received the same kind words. The Ministry had undergone severe changes since its taking over by Lord Voldemort during The Battle of Hogwarts. More and more effort was being made to conceal the wizarding world from the eyes of Muggles, while simultaneously developing plans for a long term plan to fully reveal themselves. It was becoming apparent that there were growing numbers of mixed race witches and wizards (with Muggle and magic parentage), so it was decided by the Minister, Amos Diggory that a more concerted effort should be made to integrate Muggle awareness.

Apparation was never one of Harry's most enjoyable aspects of wizardry, the feeling of being squeezed into a small space that wasn't there wasn't particularly enjoyable. He arrived outside the Leaky Cauldron, the hub between the Muggle world and the wizard world and a decent place to buy some breakfast. The owner of the Leaky Cauldron was Hannah Abbot, wife to Harry's good friend Neville Longbottom who was also Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts. When Harry entered he noticed that it was empty, save for a tired-looking Hannah cleaning the last of the previous nights drinks, no doubt sparked by the end of the Quidditch World Cup. "I didn't think anyone would have celebrated Italy winning..." Harry said, helping to move some of the half-drunken Fire Whisky glasses. "They weren't celebrating Italy winning" Hannah said wryly, "they were celebrating that it's over – a lot of local Quidditch teams have Italian and Bulgarian players, they don't want them to get tired!" Then, almost as if she had just noticed him, Hannah asked "What are you doing here so early?" "I wanted to get some work done at the Ministry," Harry lied "it's best to get a head start, you know?" Hannah smiled as she pulled her slightly untidy hair back into a ponytail. "How's Neville? I heard his parents passed away..." Harry asked, slightly cautiously. Hannah turned her back to him and answered "In a way, I think they had been dead to him for a long time. Not to say that their passing didn't mean anything to him, but..." she turned around, and Harry saw the pain in her eyes "...at least now they're at peace."

Years ago, an evil witch by the name of Bellatrix Lestrange tortured Neville's parents to the breaking points of madness. He had never really shown any outward feeling to Harry that reflected the unlimited heartbreak he must have been feeling. Harry suddenly remembered the moment he, Ron and Hermione had unwittingly met Neville at St. Mungo's Hospital and how they all came to realise that he was a far more damaged person than his forgetfulness showed. In the years to follow that moment, Neville would show far more courage than anyone could have predicted and Harry considered him a very close friend and confidant.

"So," Hannah said, dragging Harry from his thoughts, "what'll it be? The same Muggle 'delicacy' you always have?" "Bacon and egg sandwich please." Harry said with a knowing smile. Hannah laughed as she walked from the bar to the back room. Harry took a seat adjacent to the roaring fireplace, and began to read the day's edition of the Daily Prophet. As he was reading a fascinating story on the debate over werewolf legislation, Hannah arrived with his breakfast. "There's no question for me," she began "after Professor Lupin, I realised we should be doing our best to help poor witches and wizards in this situation." "I would agree, Hannah, if I had not met Fenrir Greyback..." Hannah merely nodded, clearly uncertain how to answer. To stop the uncomfortable silence, Harry interjected: "Hannah, do you mind if I borrow some Floo powder? Only I don't feel like walking to work today." "Sure you can, Harry, I'll go grab some." After little time, Hannah returned with a small, woven bag. Harry took some of the Floo powder and before throwing it into the fire turned and said goodbye. The powder turned the fire a luminescent green, Harry stepped in and said clearly "The Ministry of Magic."

The main chamber of the Ministry was very tall and circular with corridors stretching as far as the eye could see in almost every direction. The marble walls were engraved with the individual achievements of many witch and wizard. Every now and then Harry caught one that he recognised, such as Fred Weasley, Bathilda Bagshot or Severus Snape. The roof was enchanted to randomly display the sky of various places around the world, whilst in the centre stood a giant statue of a man which represented the current mood of the people who were working at the Ministry. At the moment it was sitting, reading a piece of parchment. Harry took this to mean that a particularly important bulletin had been made. It wasn't until Harry noticed that there was nobody else but he in the chamber that he thought something was wrong. He may be early but there are literally hundreds of people employed by the Ministry, with many of them going to and from rooms, usually through the central chamber. Eventually, a junior Minister employee walked out of one of the corridors, his faced buried in parchment. Harry recognised him as Cornelius Fudge Jnr.

"Cornelius?" Harry said, jogging towards the young man. "What's going on?" Cornelius looked up, his father's face (though decidedly more youthful) was askew in confusion. "Oh, Harry!" He said, slightly surprised. "What do you mean what's going on? I've read this thing a dozen times – everyone's got one – we've no idea where it came from! I'm still trying to make sense of it! You've probably got one yourself. The Minister can't answer us, and as far as the Aurors can tell, there's no dark magic in it whatsoever. In fact, there isn't a trace of magic _at all!_" Harry was stunned. Every letter written – or touched – by a witch or wizard leaves residual magic. For this to be possible it must have been written by a Muggle. "I know what you're thinking," Cornelius continued "a Muggle, right? Well, we all found these on our desks. We don't know how they got here! I mean, there's always a member of the Ministry at his or her desk at one point of the day, yet somehow these things made it inside with nobody noticing!" Harry was increasingly confused, and curious. "Do you mind, Cornelius?" He asked. "Oh! No, go ahead" Cornelius handed the piece of paper to Harry, its words clearly typed on a computer. Harry began to read:

_To the 'Ministry of Magic',_

_We write to you with important news. However, before we get to that we must outline just who 'we' are, and why you must consider us very important. We are The Department for Occult Regulation, or the DOR for short. We have existed for a very short time, but our influence and ideas have borne fruit within the government. We operate in extreme secret, as you may have discovered when you found this letter. Unfortunately, I cannot reveal just how we performed such an elaborate illusion, you have your secrets and we have ours. So, we are sure you are thinking how did we originate? _

_In the 'Battle of Hogwarts', you failed to recognise that many humans would also be caught up in your wide net of destruction. Your self-importance and ignorance did not account for the casualties that we would suffer. Using various techniques, we discovered spectral apparitions you call 'Dementors' prowling our streets, werewolves being set loose and 'Dark' wizards killing innocent humans. I am sure that you have heard of the notorious Pansy Parkinson? Well, let us assure you that she has been caught and dealt with by the DOR._

_ Fifteen years ago, the DOR was established by one man. It took the rest of us a long time to accept the existence of your kind, but when we did – and realised your danger to civilisation – it was decided that we had to act as quickly and succinctly as possible._

_As a result, the government has given us the go ahead for enacting_ Clause Six _of our constitution. It reads: _"Should the wizarding community since Awareness Day (The Battle of Hogwarts) be guilty of genuine oversight to contain its dangers, be it man, ethereal or creature, then the Department for Occult Regulation should intervene." _As you can see, Ms. Parkinson's unprovoked attack is in clear violation._

_As a result, agents from the DOR shall be arriving at various places within the wizarding community (Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic, Hogsmede, Diagon Alley and Godric's Hollow) with the intention of overseeing wizarding life with – we hope – little need to intervene any more. We must, however, point out that any decision made by the Ministry or subject taught by Hogwarts will need to be clarified with the DOR. We provide this information so you may begin the necessary preparations._

_Please, do not attempt to contact the Prime Minister. His leanings towards the wizarding community is well documented by the DOR, and by the time you have read this his replacement will be running the country, and any communication with him will be impossible._

_Try to understand that we are being as generous as we can be. Agents shall arrive in twenty-four hours. Magic of any kind will be useless – we have developed a method of defending ourselves. If you manage to withhold your anger and co-operate, the DOR will finish its evaluation and leave._

_Yours,_

_Nobody._

Harry stood, stunned. He was suddenly transported into the memories of the dream he had that morning, and the morning before. This letter, those dreams, they could be connected. But how? Had Muggles managed to tap into his brain? It seemed ridiculous, but so did the idea that there was a group of Muggles bent on 'overseeing' wizard activity, and just what did it mean that they had discovered a way of 'defending themselves'? Harry was suddenly jerked from his thoughts by a young assistant to the Minister. "Potter? Harry Potter?" She asked. "Y-yes. Yes, that's me." "The Minister wants to see you in his office." Harry obliged and slowly made his way. It seemed to Harry that one way or another, wizard-Muggle relations would need to step up a gear.


	4. A Dark Appointment

**CHAPTER FOUR**

_A Dark Appointment_

Harry was still reeling from the letter that was now tightly scrunched in his sweating hand. He could not, _would not _believe that his recent dreams were connected to this. In any case, he had much more to worry about than himself. This DOR – or whatever they were calling themselves – had set their targets on Hogwarts; his children could be in danger. Thoughts swam in Harry's mind, what would these Muggles put the children through? The letter mentioned an 'evaluation', just what does that mean? Unless the Minister had a plan, he would likely find out in less than a day. The Minister's office was down the most centre corridor. As Harry walked down it, he noticed that the mail traffic (small bewitched paper airplanes) grew dense; clearly other members of the Ministry were beginning to feel apprehensive about this mass arrival of Muggles. He passed a small office, where Arthur Weasley – head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office – was talking to his son, Ron.

"Harry! Harry, my boy – come in please!" Arthur said expectantly. "I'm sorry, Arthur, I have an appointment with the Minister, presumably about..." and Harry held aloft the crumpled letter. "Don't worry Harry; this will only take a moment. I'm sure Amos can wait for you." Harry felt this was a battle he would lose, so he took a seat next to Ron and opposite his father-in-law. "What is it?" Harry said, regretting the impatient tone in his voice. "Well, we wanted to talk to you about this Muggle intervention business. Do you really think they could be behind this, or are we about to walk into an elaborate trap?" Arthur asked, a strangely excited look etched on his face. "I don't understand, how would I know?" Harry said incredulously. "Well think about it mate, you may be a wizard, but you keep the most amount of Muggle company of any of us." Ron said. He added "Sometimes I think you prefer their company – you've missed the last four get-togethers." Harry shifted nervously in his seat. "Yeah – I've just been swamped with work that's all." Harry knew Ron didn't believe him – he gave the same look as Ginny does – but he was nonetheless glad when Arthur reiterated the question, "So? Could the Muggles really pull something like this off?" Harry thought for a moment, and then answered. "Truthfully, I don't think we give Muggles enough credit for they have achieved without magic. Sure, we can heal wounds and save lives without the need for scalpels and stitches, but could we develop devastating weapons? Could we really utilise computers, the microchip? Could we integrate them into wizarding society? I don't think so. If they've managed to find us and protect _themselves_, they could – if they wanted to – inflict great damage." Ron and Arthur looked at each other nervously. "I suggest," Harry continued "that you both research Muggle behaviour. Just like wizards, they have performed acts of good _and _evil. Don't take Muggles for granted." With that, Harry excused himself and continued to the Minister's office.

The door to Amos Diggory's office was rather elegant. It was engraved with caricatures of both his son and wife, who had long since departed. Like the statue in the main hall, they represented the mood of the person within the office. At the moment, both were holding hands, with their heads bowed, as if contemplating a difficult decision. As Harry approached, however, they simultaneously looked up and smiled warmly. Knowing what to do, Harry asked the engraved family of Diggory if he could enter. Again, they reacted at the same time, nodding slowly, and the door to Amos Diggory's office opened. Inside, there was a small but effective mural to Cedric Diggory, Amos' son, who – years ago, though it felt like only days – was murdered in front of Harry by the Dark Lord Voldemort. Harry felt a pang of pain every time he looked at it, though it was immeasurable compared to how Amos must feel. The rest of the office was usually a neat assemblage of cabinets and drawers which would magically open and close depending on the severity of the days' cases. Today, however, the cabinets were working very hard to keep closed, as a pile of recently unfolded paper airplanes sat unread on Amos' desk.

"Ah, Harry, please sit down." Amos said, rather calmly. "Sorry I'm late Minister," Harry began, but Amos raised a hand, "Do not trouble yourself, Harry – I'm sure many people wanted your input as to the content of these letters from no-one..." The Minister looked tired, Harry thought he had been notified just as he was about to go to sleep. "Now, you've probably read this damned thing a thousand times." "Just the once – I've only just arrived." Harry interjected. "Well, in any case, you must understand the severity of its contents?" "I do." "Well," Amos began, "What we have here is a breach of the Statute of Secrecy. I _know_ that we've been working to find a way to rid ourselves of that archaic law, but it would appear that a select band of Muggles are going to do that for us." "So, you don't think that other Muggles know about this?" Harry asked. "It is unlikely. Before the Muggle Prime Minister's removal – yes, Harry, it was the first thing I checked – he assured me that as far as the Muggles were concerned, witches and wizards were something to be confined to stories and fable. I believe that what we have here is a Muggle who has links with a witch or wizard. Someone who is clearly influential and cunning." Harry was still confused as to why _he _had been brought in specifically. "I've already relayed this to Kingsley. We have decided that prudent action be taken quickly and within the short time limit that we have. First of all, we have ordered all wizards _not _to be on the offensive. The last thing we need is violence. Secondly, we are going to inject certain areas that would be otherwise outside of Ministry intervention with Aurors." Amos continued, "You must remember the last time 'we' sent someone to Hogwarts?" Harry instinctively rubbed the back of his left hand, the scars of _'I must not tell lies' _faded, but the memories were still fresh. "McGonagall won't like that." Harry said. "She has little choice, I'm afraid." Amos said, with a nod.

"As you may know, Luna Lovegood teaches at Hogwarts – Defence against the Dark Arts, and truthfully, her methods are less than suitable. Headmistress McGonagall has been looking for an excuse to... substitute her, and we think this is the perfect opportunity." Amos bowed his head, looking over his glasses. "This is where you come in, Harry." Taken aback, Harry simply stared at the Minister. "You're experience with the Dark Arts is well known – however many times you try to explain it away with 'luck' – either way," Amos pointedly added over Harry's stuttering objections "you know your stuff." Harry sat back in the comfortable arm chair, uncertain as what to say. "Your chambers at Hogwarts are ready, a lesson plan has been written and the school passwords have been sent by owl." Amos concluded. "Minerva expects you in three hours. Clear up any loose ends you have with Kingsley." The Minister clearly saw the trepidation in Harry's face. "Look. We need someone adult with Muggle experience at Hogwarts." "Why not choose Hermione?" Harry asked. "We also need someone who can think on their feet. Basically," Amos genuinely seemed desperate "we need _you _there."

Harry sat for a moment, contemplating the next twenty-four hours. Not only would he have to teach several classes of students about the Dark Arts with no prior experience, he also had to prepare for whatever was going to descend upon the wizarding world at the end of the day. Harry relented, nodding, and left the Ministers office. He made his way to his own office – passing groups of concerned witches and wizards on the way. 'The Office of Harry Potter (Snr. Auror)' was engraved on the bronze door that led to his personal office. Inside were many trophies from his school Quidditch days, a blood-stained diary in a magically re-enforced glass case (perhaps the strangest item), and most precious of all – pictures of his family: father James and mother Lily, wife Ginny with the kids. On the wall opposite the enterance hanged a broomstick, the _Greenbelt 4500 _– a fast, but agile broomstick. He unhooked it from its resting place and placed it against the side of his desk. Sitting down, he pulled a piece of parchment from a drawer and a quill from a pot of ink and began to write:

_Dear Ginny,_

_We've got our hands full at the Ministry, no doubt you'll have heard about it already over at the Prophet. I've been assigned to take over as the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. I'm heading there now, I'll give your love to this kids._

_Love,_

_Harry._

It wasn't exactly a masterpiece, but he had no time to spare if he wanted to get to Hogwarts within three hours. He pointed his wand at the piece of parchment and said, clearly, "Mail Room". The piece of parchment folded itself into a neat airplane and sped off, the door opening and closing for it. Standing, Harry quickly threw his travelling cloak around him, grabbed his broomstick and headed for the main exit for any travelling witch or wizard. Upon arriving, he was greeted by the Broomstick Marshall, who oversaw any take-off and landing from or to the Ministry. "'Arry Potter?" "Yeah?" "It's abaht time you got 'ere, we're ready t'let ya go." The Marshall turned to his workmate at the other end of the room. "OI! BARRY! OPEN THE BLEEDIN' ROOF UP WILL YA?" "WHATCHU SAY TERRY?" Barry yelled back. Terry turned to Harry and said, "Tell ya, he's gettin' deafer and deafer this one... I SAID OPEN THE EFFIN' ROOF YA MORON!" "OH! OK!" With the message clearly understood, Barry pointed his wand to the darkness that enveloped the sealing. With all the motion of fluid being parted the roof opened, and daylight streamed inside. "Righ', I fink you're ready t'go now. Happy travellin'." Harry gave Terry a grateful, if not altogether friendly, nod. The broomstick felt very natural to Harry as he kicked off. Soon, he was flying with the greatest of ease towards his destination.

Flying from London to Hogwarts was not a difficult journey for Harry – he'd always thought that if he could do it in a flying car, he could do it with anything – just keep above the clouds and out of the way of planes. Fortunately, this particular day was a grey one, plenty of cover to fly with. Harry was feeling a little apprehensive about his return to Hogwarts, and he would have much appreciated it if it wasn't under the veil of such uncertainty. No doubt he could persevere with the teaching, but the alien notion of Muggles being at the school scared Harry. He knew that children could be very troublesome, especially in the possession of magic, and he was worried about any possible problems this would present. He also had his special, usual appointment at the weekend that – despite what happened at Hogwarts – he had promised himself a long time ago he would never miss.

Suddenly everything suddenly grew darker. Harry's vision became blurred, his control over the broom uncertain. A voice, the same voice as his dreams began to speak. As before he could not place it, but this time the words were clear. _"Soon, soon my friends we will be in control. For too long they have overshadowed us. Too long. Yes, Shelby, I intend to see him, but not just yet. I have work to complete first. No, Jason, she will not be a problem – I have seen to that."Then everything changed. The darkness took shape. A woman named Astoria cried in the distance, her white dress spattered with blood. A man with a red scar down the length of his face walked towards her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Astoria looked to him and mouthed nothing. A man with a pointed face and dulled white hair lay on the ground in front of them – his face disfigured by a large puncture mark. "Do not worry, my dear" the scarred man said "he is at peace, and soon – so shall you."_

Harry was jerked from this unpleasant image by the droplets of rain on his face pounding down. Before he could do anything to stop it, his broomstick began fast descent. He could see Hogwarts – he passed over the lake, his speed getting faster and faster. He flew past the Whomping Willow, going far too quick for it to react to him. He could not react quickly enough, and Harry Potter crashed headlong in to the wet grass.


	5. Rest, Recovery and Remembrance

**CHAPTER FIVE**

_Rest, Recovery and Remembrance_

In the midst of the fog, Harry could make out a giant figure. It was imposing, yes, but comforting. In the fires of confusion, a man with a scarred faced walked closer and closer still. It spoke to him with a loud, booming voice. Words that he should remember, words that he had just heard, cracked and became disjointed. The laugh, a long drawled out laugh played backwards in Harry's mind. A woman whose face was blurred reached out with a powerless hand. The scarred man was close – his features became mangled, mouth contorted, drooling saliva. He had power, but a power Harry did not recognise, and did not want to recognise. Then: children, three of them, are crying in the fog and the fire. They are calling out for their lost father. The giant figure came into focus, its bushy, unkempt hair draped over its head. A room came into focus, Harry felt the mattress underneath him, "Yeh alrigh' there Harry?" Hagrid the Hogwarts Groundskeeper said, in his low kind voice.

Harry's mind was racing, trying to fill in the gaps. He could remember leaving the Ministry, flying over London and then... darkness. What had happened that made him loose control of the broomstick? "Yeh know how t' make an enterance, Harry. I'll give yeh that!" Hagrid said. "Hagrid? Is that you?" Harry stupidly asked. "O' course it's me, Harry! I picked yeh up near the Willow – knocked righ' out yeh were." The pain in Harry's head was subsiding; the familiar surroundings of the hospital wing were comforting. "I'm not the on'y one 'ere, look..." Hagrid nodded towards the three children gathered around his bedside. "You OK, Dad?" asked Lily. "I told you he was alright." Said James. "You were the one worrying!" exclaimed Al. Harry laughed, "Of course I'm OK – I've got Madame Pomfrey to look after me, right?" "Actually," an elderly Poppy Pomfrey said, sat in a large chair from the back of the room "you can thank Professor Longbottom – his cross breed of Transylvanian Rose Bud and Lithuanian Nettle Grass cured your wounds faster than anything I had in my inventory." Neville stepped from behind a curtain and said, "I call it the Longbottom Leaf. How are you Harry?" Harry nodded approval and smiled at seeing his old friend again.

Hagrid coughed loudly. "Oh," began Harry, "how are you Hagrid?" The half-giant smiled (and slightly blushed) before answering, "Oh, yeh know – Groundskeepin' is a bit 'arder nowadays, bein' as old as I am..." "I'm sure you do just fine, doesn't he kids?" The three children nodded in eager agreement. Quickly changing the subject, Hagrid suddenly announced, "Headmistress McGonagall is on her way to see you, _Professor_." Harry realised it would take some time getting used to being called 'Professor Potter'. It actually sounded very silly in his head. "She wants t' get you up to speed with things." Harry had almost forgotten, "Wait! What time is it? How long have we got?" "Calm y' self Harry. We've got plenty of time 'til these ruddy Muggles get here."

With a loud creak, the doors to the hospital wing swung open. With the air of someone very important, the Hogwarts headmistress, Minerva McGonagall walked in. She did not say hello to any of those present, instead she said "I need to speak to Professor Potter alone. Hagrid, could you please return to the Great Hall, we need you to help with the... preparations. Professor Longbottom, I would like you to return the Greenhouses and wait for your next class. Children, return to your dormitories. Poppy, if you wouldn't mind waiting outside." Each person did what they were told with no complaint. It appeared that McGonagall commanded some respect at Hogwarts as headmistress. 

Before Lily left, she turned to Harry and yelled, "Oh! I'm in Gryffindor!" Harry smiled as McGonagall sat beside him.

"Well, Harry, you certainly know how to make an enterance." She said, with what could be said to be a half-smile. "Headmistress, I..." "Please, call me Minerva." "_Minerva_, I can't exactly tell you what happened. I was on my way here, and... I must have blacked out. The cold, maybe." McGonagall did not look entirely convinced, but Harry could give no better answer. "Harry, I wanted to talk to you in private because I wanted to establish... some rules." McGonagall looked stern, "As you know, we have not had a Ministry-appointed teacher at Hogwarts since 'Professor' Umbridge. It is very important you understand that Hogwarts teaches what Hogwarts wants, not the Ministry." Harry felt like a child, his temper was slowly rising, "Minerva, my being here has nothing to do with Hogwarts' curriculum. The letters we received at the Ministry are very troubling. I've been sent here to relay information about what could happen. Trust me, I am trying to help." McGonagall looked convinced, "Yes, the letters. We have decided to re-enforce the magical boundaries that protect our walls, however protecting the school from magical attack we know how to do. Protecting it from Muggle attack is... unusual." Harry pursed his lips, thinking deep. He was in two minds as to whether he should divulge his dreams to the headmistress. Looking at her, he decided against it. "What is the Ministry's official position on this?" McGonagall said, breaking the silence. Harry looked at her, and said "Unfortunately, it doesn't seem that the Ministry has a position. We're waiting for this as much as you are." The headmistress sighed, and rose from her seat. "Well," she began "I expect the best from my Professors – Poppy says that you will be fine. You have a class in one hour, third year Slytherin." She turned to leave. "We have six hours until – whatever it is – happens. Be alert, Harry."

The time passed far too quickly for Harry. A lesson plan had been drawn up by Luna, but it concerned magical creatures (that he was sure didn't exist) and the best defences against them (which he was sure wouldn't work, even if they did exist). Harry decided that he would begin with the only spell he had managed to get to work with reliability and that would be good enough for third year study. As Harry made his way from the hospital wing, he passed several groups of students all looking rather apprehensive. Eventually he found his way to the classroom, the Slytherin students outside quickly hushed their voices. "Erm, inside please." Harry said, with not a single ounce of authority. Fortunately, the students appeared not to have noticed and did as they were told. They filled the seats quickly, and Harry stood at the front of the class feeling rather foolish. "OK," he started, "welcome to Defence against the Dark Arts. Today, we will..." Harry was halted by a quivering raised hand from young Slytherin girl. "Professor?" she said. "Erm, yes?" "Is it true you defeated the Dark Lord?" Harry was unprepared for the question, and simply said – taking his cues from the ghost Professor Binns – "I deal in fact, not storytelling." The young girl looked embarrassed and lowered her hand.

"What I'm going to teach you today could very well save your life." Harry dramatically began, "I assume you've heard of Dementors?" The students looked around nervously, with one of them shouting out "I heard they were made up!" "Raise your hand, Mr.?" "Klastix" "Well, Mr. _Klastix_, I assure you they _are _real." Harry was aware that he had the class' complete attention. "Dementors are ethereal creatures. They feed off the happiness inside of us, draining it until only our worst memories and feelings remain. They are cloaked with a material made of nothing you have ever seen or felt. They are amongst the foulest creatures in the wizarding world. However, there is one defence." Harry pulled out his wand, pointed it at a nondescript place and yelled "_Expecto Patronum!_" From the end of his wand a mighty stag made of pure light emerged and galloped around the room. The students looked amazed, each ones' eyes following the creature around the room.

"The Patronus charm requires extensive training. You will not get it at the first try. Now, to perform the charm, you must first think of an extremely happy memory. Not your favourite story, or family member, but a specific moment in your life that made you experience being very happy. If you think you've got it, perform the charm by saying the words 'Expecto Patronum.' Everyone together." The class repeated the charm, some falling behind unable to pronounce it properly. When they had repeated it several times, Harry motioned to the class to form a line from the back of the class to the front. "Now, I want you all to try the Patronus charm in turn. Do not be disconcerted if you fail, this is highly advanced magic." One by one the students tried the charm. The first, the young girl who had asked the question, almost threw her wand across the room. Most of the students had trouble saying the word, but to Harry's surprise, a few managed to evoke a whisper of silver from the end of their wand. "Don't worry, you'll get it." Harry said to a young boy who had accidentally blasted a table to pieces. The last student to try his hand at the charm was a tall, silver haired boy with slightly pointed features. He was familiar to Harry, but he couldn't place him. He raised his wand, and with apparent ease yelled "_Expecto Patronum!_" What happened next nearly knocked the wind from Harry. He had expected a whisper of silver, but instead a large, glowing wild boar shot from the wand, and began to curiously look at its silver stag counterpart.

For a second, Harry was speechless. The silver haired boy looked almost unsurprised by his achievement. "C-congratulations! _That _is how you perform the Patronus charm!" The boys' complexion changed almost immediately – it appeared that admiration garnered confidence. "Really? You liked it?" He asked, followed with a wild smile. "Of course!" Then Harry saw it. "You're Scorpius Malfoy, right?" Harry asked. "Yes, yes I am. How did you know that?" Harry was about to answer, but the darkness took him again. The woman with the bloodstained, white dress was back. She was on her knees, playing with a piece of wood that may have been a wand. She seemed uncertain what to do with it, fumbling with it in her fingers. All of a sudden she raised her head. The scarred man walking towards her. Every time, it was the scar. Such prominence it had over every other feature. He had something in his hand – a sharp instrument. He could feel remorse pouring from the man, the pain he felt. But not for the woman, it was for someone long since lost. The scarred man lowered himself, and placed the sharp instrument into her arm. He remained there, watching her. Slowly she faded away, her soft sobs echoing into the darkness. Then the scarred man began to speak his usual unusual words. "_It is done now Shelby and any further insubordination from you will result in severe consequences." _It paused for a moment. "_I need not explain myself Jason. Rebecca, are preparations complete for your arrival at the school? Good. There is no doubt that Mr. Malfoy's disappearance will go unnoticed. We must act quickly." _Another pause, this time much longer. "_In four hours, you will understand. Trust me; my plan is borne out of controlling these 'people', I do not intend to hurt anymore of them. Co-operation is of the utmost importance._"

"Professor?" A distant, child's voice asked. "Professor?" There it was again. "_Professor Potter?_" Before he could stop himself, Harry grabbed Scorpius by the scruff of his collar. He was aware he was sweating profusely. "G-get..." Harry started, with great difficulty, "Get the headmistress... Your mother... is in trouble..."


	6. Return to Malfoy Manor

**CHAPTER SIX**

_Return to Malfoy Manor_

The young Malfoy boy looked afraid. His eyes were wide with anxiety. The other students were gathered around uncertain where to look, though Harry noticed that it appeared that most did not want to look at him. Harry didn't understand, didn't they hear him? "Scorpius, please understand. Get the headmistress, get Minerva. Your mother is in trouble." Harry got to his feet, slowly and with some trouble, the latest vision had knocked the wind out of him. Scorpius helped Harry get to a chair, before running out of the classroom. Some of the students approached Harry, looking like they were trying to find words to comfort him. After what felt like a considerable amount of time, McGonagall burst into the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom, looking rather flustered. "Harry?" She inquired, "Harry, what's going on?" Shaken, he tried to explain himself. "I... _saw _something, Minerva. Astoria Malfoy, she's... something has happened to her." McGonagall looked more worried than she did when she arrived. "I'll get in contact with the Ministry..." but Harry cut across her. "There's no time! I _am _the Ministry. I'll go!" Harry said this with far more confidence in himself than he could back up with action. McGonagall didn't look very convinced, and if Harry wasn't so sure in what he saw, he couldn't blame her. Eventually she relented, "Very well, Harry. In the meantime, I _will _contact the Ministry." "Get them to send Ron." Harry said simply.

His legs were shaking, but Harry was certain it was _he _that had to get to Astoria. Slowly, but with strong defiance, Harry made his way to the Broomstick paddock near the Quidditch field. On his way, Harry repeated the vision over and over again. He disregarded the scarred man – each time he appeared the same, the single face-length wound being his only distinguishing feature. Harry couldn't place him at all, though he had no doubt that he would find out, these things usually panned out that way. Instead, he concentrated his thoughts on the blood spattered woman and the pale, dead man. Harry was convinced that the woman was Astoria – he felt that her inability to recognise a wand was a pivotal part of the vision. However, Harry was far more concerned with the dead man. He had not wanted to say anything in front of Scorpius, but... it was Draco. It must have been. But what did this all mean? Is Draco dead, or in danger of dying? Is Astoria the murderer or is this elusive scarred man the true perpetrator? The questions in his head began to grow in number. Why was he being affected so? Harry closed his thoughts as he pulled open the large door to the Broomstick paddock.

There was an array of Broomsticks lined up against the wall, floating there by magic. Harry didn't recognise many of the models - custom building was the latest development in Broomstick production - but it didn't take him long to find his own. Harry stopped for a moment before collecting his Broomstick to contemplate what lay ahead at the all-too familiar Malfoy Manor. Harry had only been there twice. The first he was held hostage by the Malfoys, listening with horror to the sounds of Hermione being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, before breaking out with the ill-fated, and good friend, Dobby. The second was about five years ago. Draco's father and mother had passed away, and Harry had been asked to attend - on his own - to a short gathering. Despite the protests from many around him, Harry went. He was taken to the study of Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, and Harry had wondered what horrible plans had been concocted and enjoyed there. It was in that very room that Draco had offered a hand in mutual acceptance. Harry thought of this as he set off:

"Wine, Potter?" Draco had said as he entered, looking not at Harry but at the roaring fireplace. "Sure." Harry answered, softly. After pouring two glasses, Draco finally looked at Harry with passive eyes. "You may be wondering why I called... _asked _you here." "I had, yeah." Draco smiled at this teenage answer. "I had never thanked you for saving me," Draco began "twice." Harry gave him a sideways glance. "Yes, I knew it was you. Your friend Weasley wasn't exactly subtle was he?" Harry laughed warmly, more at the memory than Draco's acceptance of the fact. "Basically, I wanted you to know that whatever happened between us in the past is no longer of any burden." "That might be difficult, Draco," Harry started "you were at the centre of a plot to destroy me and everything I believe in." Draco looked abashed; he hadn't expected Harry to be so blunt. He collected himself and continued. "My wife, Astoria - have you met her?" Harry nodded. "She wasn't like me. She knows about my teenage years, yet she understands. At least, I think - _hope_ - she does." Harry didn't answer - he wanted to ask "Really?" but stopped himself. Draco continued:

"It was a terrible time, Harry. I have never told this to anyone, but the true power of He Who Shall Not Be Named was unbearable to me. I was a brash and foolhardy child. I know what you're thinking, Harry. Did I have suspicions about Snape? Yes, I suppose. He showed me kindness." "On Dumbledore's instruction." Harry interjected. "Yes, I suspected as much. Would I have told the Dark Lord? No. At the time, I thought my own father was a stooge to Him. I suppose I was, too - it was Snape's kindness that brought me away from all of that. I couldn't take it some days. Now," Draco looked to a picture of his father - his magically moving image shifted nervously, unwilling to look outwards of the frame, "I wonder whether my dear departed father was really the stooge I thought he was. This is why I asked you here. I wanted to make amends for both myself and my father."

Harry shifted towards a small chair that was positioned towards the fireplace. Draco took a seat opposite. "What do you expect me to say, Draco? That all is well?" Draco's sharp, pointed features became more apparent in the glare of the fireplace. "What I want you to say is simply that you _understand_." "I do, Draco. I always have." "Then I have one more thing to ask of you," Said Draco apparently content with the answer, "my son, Scorpius, he starts Hogwarts soon. I want, more than anything, for him to be a success." Harry was uncertain as to where this was going. "If anything should happen to me and Astoria could you please... take care of him?" Harry was taken aback by the question; he looked away from Draco and thought quickly. "Why me?" Harry asked. "It's quite simple, Harry, despite our differences in the past, I want you to know that I have developed a certain respect for you." "Thanks." Harry said incredulously. Draco laughed softly, "I know it's hard to believe, but I need you to say yes, please."

At this point, Harry was happy that the door to the study was opened gifting him a temporary reprieve from answering. Astoria, looking beautifully elegant in a long, black dress, walked in slowly. "Draco," she began, "the guests are wondering what you are doing." Her tone was neither angry nor inquisitive, it was simply warm. "Don't worry, my dear. I'm just clearing a few things with Harry, here." "Oh, OK - you shall be out soon?" "Yes." "Harry, good to see you." "Astoria." Harry said, with genuine friendliness as Astoria walked out of the room. "Does she know?" Harry asked, "Does she know what you're asking me?" Draco looked concerned, "No, not as such. She talks good of you, Harry. That is why I'm asking, she sees you as a good father." "And you?" "She sees me as a good father, too." "Listen, Draco," Harry started, "I'm glad - seriously - that you've asked me here. I had wanted to talk to you since your appointment to assistant to the Minister. But this, this is a massive favour you're asking." "I just want what is best for Scorpius." Draco stood up. 

"You know what it's like at the Ministry. Sure, I've risen up the ranks, but do you honestly think that Diggory allows be to be independent? Of course he doesn't. We're all under very close supervision - those that were involved in the Dark Days. _Even after all this time! _If something should happen to us, then Scorpius will be left with a family that will know this! He will be unhappy! I know that if you were in charge of him, he'd have the best life he could have without his parents." Harry was suddenly taken back to his own parentless upbringing. He remembered the closet, the clothes that didn't fit the scraps of food. He remembered the sight of freedom in the form of a half-giant. Harry stood and met Draco's gaze. "I'll do it." Harry said, and catching the sight of Draco's warm smile, turned and left.

He had never told anyone the details of that conversation, even Ginny. He suspected that neither had Draco, though they always made sure they both knew this with a curt nod to one another at King's Cross. It was with some trepidation that Harry had never disclosed this information - it would effectively mean that some very tough discussion would have to be made, discussion that Harry was not entirely sure how to convey to either his family or Scorpius. He wondered, with a degree of fear, just how close he was to having to have that discussion as he flew over the green fields of England towards the Malfoy Manor. How much trouble was Astoria in - and Harry grew more certain it was her - what had she done? Harry grew more and more concerned of her wellbeing as he continued to fly.

It took just under an hour to arrive at the gates of Malfoy Manor. There, waiting for him, was a silhouetted figure. As he got closer, Harry realised it was Ron. Ron gave Harry a welcome wave, and jogged to meet him. "Ron, when did you get here?" Harry asked. "Just now, Apparation." Harry looked at the imposing manor that lay ahead of him, divided by the large metal gates in front of him. "I can't believe I've come back to this place." Ron said. "Let's just do this, Ron." "But what if this is a trap?" "It isn't," Harry started, with less than satisfactory confidence "whatever is in there, whatever happened wasn't meant to be found. Not yet, anyway." Ron looked nervous. "How the hell d'you know?" Harry quickly explained the vision he had whilst teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. "Bloody hell, mate. For the first time in years I wish Dumbledore was back - y'know, to explain things." "I think I can," Harry started, "the dream, or whatever you want to call it, was jumbled; it didn't make sense in the slightest. Not at first. It seemed to become clearer with, well, _intent_." Ron seemed to become - if it was possible - more nervous. "Something _has _happened here, but I wasn't meant to know about it. The thought, the _intent_, was powerful enough to somehow break into my own consciousness. How, why or who is a complete mystery. _That _I need help on."

As Harry and Ron continued up to the manor, the wind blew ominously. The path was winding, but neat. The grass looked nicely - and recently - trimmed. As the manor came closer, Harry quickly realised that the only lights that were on came from the main hall - directly inside the main doors. Harry turned to Ron with a slight grimace, though nothing compared to Ron's own look. Harry placed his hand on the doorknob and turned. With a slight heave the large, ornate door opened.

Before Harry and Ron could survey the hall, a crazed woman in a white dress, lain on the floor raised her wand - with flames in her eyes - and yelled "_Avada Kadavra!" _


	7. Astoria, Estranged

**CHAPTER SEVEN **

_Astoria, Estranged_

It was over, Ron was right it was a trap, Harry thought in the split second he had - unable to react. Yet, Harry continued to think. He slowly opened his eyes to see that Ron was also cowered in fear. The screaming continued, the woman in the white dress still shouting "_Avada Kadavra!"_ over and over again until her voice finally failed her and she dropped the wand like it was it a simple stick of wood. Crying, her arm flopped down and through her tear-stained eyes she looked - with a sickening curiosity - at her hands. It wasn't until Harry had collected himself that he realised that he was looking at Astoria Malfoy. Ron, paralysed by fear, simply said - in an almost breathless whisper - "_What the... HELL?" _Harry moved, with some caution, towards the shaking shape that was Astoria, holding out a tentative hand in comfort. Astoria raised her head slightly, meeting Harry's affectionate gaze. Slowly she formed what looked like a smile, before it dissolved into a grimace. "GET AWAY FROM ME!" She yelled, "I'm... I'm a _freak!_" Astoria covered her eyes with her forearm and waved Harry away with the other.

Unbeknownst to Harry, Ron had sidled up next to him. "Harry?" Ron asked, to which Harry did not initially respond. "Harry, what the hell is going on here?" Ron continued to keep his gaze away from the crazed Astoria that lay before him. "I don't know. That should have killed one of us. No way had we the time to stop it." Harry said. "Oh _great_." Ron said. "Ron, think about it. She _meant _that Killing Curse," he said, echoing an old, long lost friend "she meant that. Why did it not work?" "I'm glad it didn't!" Ron shouted. Harry looked closely at Astoria, before saying, "You know what?" He turned to face Ron, to make sure he had his complete attention, "I'm not so sure I'm glad." Ron scoffed. "Ron, for goodness sake, _think!" _Harry said, with the uncomfortable realisation that he suddenly sounded like Hermione. "I know! OK! It's just I'd rather be alive to figure out why she can't do magic, than dead at her hand!" At this, Astoria burst into louder, far more hysterical tears.

"Astoria? Astoria, listen to me. Who did this?" Harry asked softly, amidst the crying. "A man with a thousand faces!" Astoria screamed, turning back to the discarded wand. "Well, that's cleared that up then." Ron said. "If you're going to be like this, Ron, get out. I mean it." Ron saw the look on Harry's face and immediately apologised. "But, seriously, what does she mean? A thousand faces?" Ron asked with more determination, "Maybe... maybe she didn't recognise him?" "That's it, Ron." Ron went slightly red when Harry said this. He was a talented Auror, but was never complimented over his problem solving - something he made up for by being particularly gifted at Wizarding Chess. "I-It is?" "Yeah, a man with a thousand faces - she's not saying that he _has _a thousand faces in the literal sense, she means that you couldn't pick him out in a thousand faces." "Oh, yeah, that's exactly what I meant."

"Look at me, Astoria. Look at me. Is that what you mean, you didn't recognise him?" Astoria continued to gaze at the wand, not answering, simply muttering words under her breath. "Here, let me take this..." Harry reached down for the wand, at which point Astoria grabbed him by the hem of his robes and dragged him so close he could feel her breath on his cheek. "Get off him!" yelled Ron, himself with wand in hand. "Don't!" Harry said, freeing a hand to hold up towards Ron. What Astoria said next, was fast and quiet. "He is coming! He is coming, Mr. Potter, son of Mr. Potter. The man with a thousand faces split in two! His power is invisible and terrible. Protection, preservation, purpose? Impossible! My only is dead, but my son is safe, that is what he said! Crimes! Penitence! These were the words he said over and over! Only he can stop himself!" With this, she let go of Harry and collapsed. Harry checked, and he was relieved that she had simply fainted from exhaustion. Something, however, gave Harry new concern. Around Astoria there he felt a vacuum, a suffocating nothingness that covered her entire body.

Ron looked shocked, more than Harry had ever seen. Harry remembered back to when Dolores Umbridge had accused a witch of stealing another's powers. It was false, a lie, of course, but he had always imagined that if it could happen, it would look something like this. "Harry... what is this? What is going on?" "I have no idea," Harry stood, keeping his gaze locked on the downed Mrs. Malfoy, "but whatever it is, I bet it has something to do with that bloody letter." Ron appeared to collect himself, as he declared: "We should split up. Search the rest of the manor." "Yeah..." Harry wasn't utterly convinced of this idea, but they had to find anything that could help lead to whoever did this and they didn't have much time to do it in. "I'll check upstairs." Ron quickly suggested which he acted on by immediately going up the flight of stairs leaving the main hall. Harry had a sneaking suspicion, which could understand, that Ron didn't want to check the dungeons where he had been imprisoned all those years ago.

Ron disappeared through a door, which Harry heard close on his way towards two grand doors that led - Harry knew - to Lucius Malfoy's study. For a second Harry felt a pang of concern about leaving Astoria alone in the main hall, though he quickly realised that it was necessity - there simply wasn't enough time to get somebody to get to the manor to oversee her. The double doors opened with ease. Harry pulled out his wand and whispered _"Lumos." _Instantly, the tip of the wand emitted a bright, luminescent glow that illuminated everything around him, while at the same time casting long shadows on the walls. The study was just how it had been all those years ago, seemingly untouched by Draco or Astoria, except for one little detail. The name 'Scorpius' was clearly engraved - crudely - in the wooden fireplace. Harry surmised that a young boy had come in, without his parents' permission, and done this. Harry smiled, the fact it hadn't been corrected formed a strange feeling of compassion for Draco as a father in his heart.

Harry continued around the deserted study, looking for anything that may enlighten the situation, and then he saw it. A letter, written only partially, lay on the desk adjacent to the wall. Harry picked it up, careful not to spill any more of the overturned ink pot. Bringing his wand closer, he began to read.

_My dearest Draco,_

_I know things haven't been going so well recently, but you not being here is making it worse. Scorpius keeps asking for you, and I'm running out of excuses! Please, tell me where you are. I know you're angry with me, and I don't blame you. Harry - _The letter dropped from Harry's grip as he read his own name. He gathered himself and continued. _- is a good man. I didn't mean to be so cold when you told me. You have to understand, I don't like thinking like that! Nothing will happen to either of us, the world has moved on from the Dark Days. If this letter finds you, I hope you can find it in your heart to understand._

_Please, Draco, please come back to us. My tears are blotting this page as I write. I am so angry with myself, and angry with you! I fear that Scorpius knows that I cry when I'm on my own. Write back, I beg of you, write_

It was here that the overturned ink pot had made its mark. Whether or not there was more to be read underneath it was unclear, but something happened as she was writing it. Suddenly, Harry remembered his brief talk with Astoria at King's Cross. _This _is why she seemed so distant. Draco had left, and was out of communication. Letters in the wizarding world could find anyone, anywhere, obviously this is what Astoria would hope would happen with this letter. Before Harry could start to collect his thoughts he heard the distant, echoing screaming of his name. It was Ron.

Harry said _"Nox!" _and his wand went out immediately. He burst through the two doors and saw Ron leaning over the banister that ran alongside the second floor of the main hall. "What is it, Ron?" yelled Harry inquisitively. "I-It's Malfoy! He's here! I-I've never seen anything... just come up already!" Harry saw Ron vanish into the upper-right door on the second floor, as he bolted up the stairs. His heart was racing, his face drenched in fearful sweat. He had no time to contemplate what he was going to find. Harry entered the same door that Ron had and it opened into a long corridor that took a sharp left. Ron was nowhere to be seen, so Harry continued to run down the corridor, taking the turn and then - Ron was huddled next to an emerald green door. "Ron?" "In there... He's in there. Or," Ron looked up, whiter than a sheet "or what's left of him."

The doorknob to the room was gleaming platinum, with what appeared to be red specks spattered on it. Harry knelt down and realised it was blood - he had seen enough in his lifetime to know that. With a considerable degree of apprehension, Harry grasped the doorknob and turned it. Inside, the room was dark, the light from the corridor cast along the floor. The carpet of the room was a dark blue; Harry followed the beam of light from the outside and saw a disembodied leg emanating from the darkness. _"Lumos"_ Harry said and - perhaps thanks to how he was feeling - the wand responded slowly. What the room looked like, Harry could not say, because the only thing he concentrated on was the white, sprawled shell of Draco Malfoy against the wall, a single dark crimson hole puncturing his forehead. Harry, without a second thought, put out his wand and left the room slamming the door shut - cursing loudly.

"What," started Ron "the _hell _was wrong with him?" Harry had leant against the wall with his arm above his head. "I've never seen anything like that! All that blood!" Harry looked sideways at Ron. "Well, Harry, what was that?" "Ron that was a gunshot wound." "A _what?_" "A gunshot wound." Harry repeated. "It's what happens when you point and fire a gun at someone." Ron looked absolutely disgusted. "A _gun_? You mean those small things that Muggles use to kill each other?" "The very same." "Bloody hell! If something like that can do something... _bloody hell!_" Ron trailed off. Harry looked despondent, "This proves it then. Muggles have found a way to rob us of our powers; they've found a way to find us - _get in our world _- and now they're coming en masse." Ron looked up. "So why did the letters seem so diplomatic, eh?" "I don't know," said Harry rasing his arm to check his watch, "but we should find out about... now."

With perfect precision, a large, light brown barn owl flew towards the window, pecking at the glass with some urgency. Harry walked over, opened it and received the letter attached to the owl's leg. Harry received an affectionate nip from the owl before it flew into the night, and Harry was painfully reminded of Hedwig, who had passed away a long time ago. "Ron, go back to the Ministry. Get everyone you can to come here. Ron, are you listening?" Ron looked up from his sitting place and quickly stood up. "Get everyone you can - recover Draco's body and get Astoria to St. Mungo's; they can do more for her. I hope." "Open that first." Ron said, pointedly. Harry was still frowning at Ron, but obliged. He opened the envelope and reached inside, where - in very rushed writing - he read out loud the short message.

"_They're here."_


	8. The Department for Occult Regulation

**CHAPTER EIGHT **

_The Department for Occult Regulation_

Harry and Ron darted down the corridor, burst through the door and jumped down the flight of stairs. The noise awoke Astoria, who began searching for her wand. When she had it in hand, she once again began the diatribe of screaming the Killing Curse at them. Ron, obviously still shaken from his less-than-warm welcome yelled and ducked away. When Astoria realised that they were heading for the large enterance doors, her screaming ceased, replaced with a whimpering "Where are you going?" to which Harry turned a replied, "Don't worry, we'll be back!" The doors swung open with Harry's determined push, and as he left he turned to Ron. "Do what I said, Ron, get the others here. _Keep this quiet Ron, _the last thing we need is more violence. I'll get back to Hogwarts as fast as I can and find out what the hell is going on." With this, Harry darted down the winding path leaving an uncertain Ron to disapperate into the darkness.

Harry, not pausing for thought, pointed his wand outside the gates and yelled _"Accio Broomstick!"_ and in an instant, his Broomstick flew towards him, which - in one fluid motion - he grabbed, threw his leg over and kicked off. Fear and hate swam through his mind, Draco was killed by a Muggle weapon, and Astoria was relieved of her powers, what were they going to do at Hogwarts? What was he going to do? He needed to calm down, Harry thought, the Minister had not wanted the wizarding community to be violent, but had Amos foreseen this? Had he been right to tell Ron to keep this quiet? Was he just following the Ministry because it was too scared to act? Harry convinced himself that he did the right thing. He would wait until he arrived at Hogwarts to make any judgement calls. Then, at the worst possible moment, it happened again.

The air around Harry seemed to close in. In the suffocating darkness Harry could see just one thing. A Muggle Hospital, and one that he recognised. Then, as soon as it began it was over. Harry knew what it meant - for once - but it would have to wait. Harry reaffirmed his grip on the Broomstick and flew faster. The weather was becoming worse, the rain slackening his hands as they were wrapped around the sodden wood. His glasses spattered with rain, his hair being plastered to his scalp and his long, maroon cloak drenched. Slowly, the distant landscape came into view, the lake covered in mist shot by, and Hogwarts appeared. The castle itself seemed to be repelling something inside, the bricks and mortar forming the building (which, Harry quickly thought, probably _weren't _bricks and mortar) seemed to shift uncomfortably in their foundations. Harry touched down outside the main gates, crudely discarded his Broomstick and - as the great doors opened at the behest of a wizard approaching; he noticed slight scorch marks running down the doors themselves.

Harry dashed, as fast as he could, to the Great Hall, where he had no doubt that - whatever was happening - would be happening there. The corridors of Hogwarts were littered with paintings that had no desire to stay within their own canvas. Many of them were deserted, but - Harry noticed - one of the most irritating of these paintings seemed to be following him down the corridor - it was an overly enthusiastic Knight, whose name was Sir Cadogan. As he ran, Harry addressed him: "What is it? I'm in a hurry!" Sir Cadogan, making a considerable amount of, replied - rather contemptuously - "Ye filthy scoundrel! Sir Cadogan wanted to provide the heir to Slytherin with a warning of grave importance!" "Oh, you idiot!" Harry struggled to say, "I'm not the heir of... _it doesn't matter! _What's the warning!?" Sir Cadogan seemed to enjoy the sight of Harry being completely unaware of what he didn't know. "Those rapscallions who have dared to breach our walls! They wait for you, sir!" At this, Harry stopped running almost immediately. "Me?" he asked. "Why, yes sir!" Sir Cadogan suddenly had the air of someone who was about to drop a massive bombshell, "They won't start their sorting until Sir Potter arrives! That is what she said!" Harry looked around, and noticed that the paintings had stopped, he could not be followed by Sir Cadogan. "OK," he began, "wait here." Harry ran down the corridor towards the Great Hall. Sir Cadogan, meanwhile, shouted down after him, "Wait? Why my heir to Slytherin, I AM YOUR ONLY HOPE!" From the opposite side of the room, a witch in another painting said, with irritable disgust, "Oh, shut up will you!"

He could hear the din of the Great Hall before he reached it, yet this was not a din of excitement but of nervous wonderment. As he reached the doors, Harry steeled himself, and then walked in.

At the sound of the Great Hall doors opening, the entire Hall fell silent. All eyes were fixed on the sight of Harry entering. Harry looked towards the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, and saw his children looking back with troubled, but hopeful faces. He smiled back at them, before scanning the Slytherin table for Scorpius. Harry saw him silently sobbing into his cloak sleeve. Harry wondered, for a moment, why he hadn't noticed the most glaring of changes in the Great Hall. Aligning the walls were a few dozen men and women, dressed in subtle, black uniforms emblazoned with the letters D.O.R. None of them seemed to move, but it wasn't that that disturbed Harry, it was the fact that they seemed to envelop in the same vacuum that surrounded Astoria Malfoy. Harry continued to walk down the centre of the Great Hall. No-one, so far, had said anything directly to him, until, "Professor Potter, could you please sit at the teacher's table?" It was McGonagall, who had stood up. "Yes, Headmistress." Harry replied. As he did so, he noticed something that sent a chill down his spine. He had walked past a rather elegant - if stern - looking woman without noticing her. Or rather, he had noticed her, but wasn't entirely concerned that she was there. Harry continued to keep his gaze locked on the woman, as she smiled pretentiously at him. When Harry sat down, the woman turned back to the waiting crowds of children and teenagers.

"Hello, and welcome to another year at, ahem, _Hogwarts_." She began the level of contempt clear. "As you may have been no doubt been made aware, we - the Department for Occult Regulation - have been given the go-ahead to investigate the wizarding world, and its activities." Most of the children shifted nervously in their seats. Harry sat, cross-armed in his seat. "Now, a few ground rules before I jump into the, how do you say, meat of this speech. Firstly, we at the _DOR _may be Muggles, but that doesn't mean we're stupid. Nor are we susceptible to you magic. We have developed a method of protection against it and we advise the students that - if you want this to run swimmingly - you shall not try to practice magic against us. Secondly, none of our highly trained 'staff' will hurt you; you do not have to worry against violence." Harry's rage built up inside him, he wanted to stand and fight - he didn't care about magic, he'd use his fists - it appear that McGonagall noticed, as she put her hand on his arm and lightly shook her head.

The woman continued, "Finally, under no circumstances should attempts be made to contact the outside world without prior DOR inspection. Now, onto business. Our presence here is to purely monitor the wizarding populace, and report back to our superiors. My name - and I hope to learn yours by the time this friendly exercise is over - is Rebecca Cartwright. I am the personal liaison to my headquarters to Hogwarts. The exercise shall work in several stages. First, we shall attend each and every class that is taught in the school. Second, we shall appoint four members of the DOR to be Vice-Heads of all Houses of Hogwarts, to actively monitor the students in more... natural habitats. Thirdly there will, replacing end of year exams, one-on-one interviews with each student. If that is clear, then we shall proceed. David?"

Again, Harry noticed that he wasn't aware of this other Muggles' appearance. The man that, seemingly, appeared from nowhere (even though now that Harry was looking at him, he was sure he was always there) was youthful, younger than Harry, but he looked gaunt and tired. David took the place of Rebecca and began to speak: "H-Hello, my name is David, and I'll be assigning the Vice-Head of Houses. Rebecca shall be with, erm, Ravenclaw... erm, a Professor Longbottom. Gladys Spotswood will be with them, erm, Slytherin and Professor Flint." At these words, a large woman with very little neck and a tight fitting suit appeared and stood at the Slytherin table. "Ahem, Shaun Furlong will attend to the H-Hufflepuff House, with Professor Thomas." Again, without noticing he was originally there, Harry saw a rather well-built man with a chiselled jaw approach the Hufflepuff table. "And finally, I will attend to the Gryffindor House with Professor Lo-" "_Potter_. Professor Potter is the Head of Gryffindor House." It was McGonagall. She had said these words with such little effort, yet so much determination. Harry simply looked taken aback, he wanted to say something, but quickly realised that McGonagall had done this intentionally. "B-But, a P-Professor Lovegood is down as the Head..." David spluttered. "She left for temporary and personal reasons, though no doubt your friends have found her by now. Professor Potter is, therefore, the temporary Head of that House."

Harry could see that several of the Gryffindor children were brave enough to smile and lightly clap hands. It wasn't until he shot them a look of warning that they stopped. Meanwhile, free from McGonagall's gaze, David continued. "We shall start our evaluations, erm, soon. Erm, don't worry, though because we'll keep you right up to date with all the proceedings as we go." David stood there, stupidly, for a few seconds, before saying "OK, that's all." "Are we _free _to leave?" McGonagall addressed the question to Rebecca. She looked around at the Hall, before finally saying "Yes, Headmistress, do as you wish." McGonagall addressed the gathering of students, and motioned them to leave, as they did so - in a far more orderly fashion than Harry had ever seen, he approached her. "Minerva, I need a word in your office. It's urgent." "That would be useless, Harry," she began, "they have almost all the rooms tapped with these special devices. Yes, I know, Harry, they aren't supposed to even work in this place, but they've found a way around it." "Come, the back room here is free, as far as I know." Harry looked suspicious as they walked towards the door to the back room, "As far as you know?" He asked. "Well, as you've no-doubt noticed, these Muggles have a certain tenacity for moving around without being noticed." "Yeah," Harry started, "I can't work that out." "Neither can I." McGonagall said.

As they entered the back room, Harry scanned the room with only his eyes. He had the feeling that if the Muggles could do what they've shown in the Great Hall, their devices would hardly be dislodged by magic. "Well, Harry, what did you find at the Malfoy's?" Harry didn't turn to face McGonagall. "We - myself and Ron - found Draco and Astoria." "Well, that's a relief." "No," Harry turned around, "Draco is dead, and - perhaps more disturbing - Astoria is without magical power. In her craze she tried to kill us with the Killing Curse." "Oh my..." started McGonagall, "we have to tell Scorpius." "I know, I'll do it." "Are you sure, Harry, I am just as capable." Harry looked at McGonagall with genuine empathy. "I've been through this. Plus, there's something I have to discuss with him, and only him."

McGonagall looked uncertainly at Harry, before relenting. "You'll need to get - I can't believe I'm saying this - _permission _- from the Slytherin Vice-Head. Take care with that one, she seems a tough Muggle." She said, sighing. Before he left, Harry turned to the headmistress and said, "As soon as you can, I'll need you to send word to Ron and Hermione, I need them here, and I figure you're the only one - right now - who could get..." "_Permission_, yes." McGonagall finished. With that Harry turned and left, missing the single tear shed by the headmistress.


	9. Family Matters

**CHAPTER NINE **

_Family Matters_


End file.
